Putty
by Kelty
Summary: Deep in the woods of a Hunger Games/Battle Royale-esque scenario, Russia runs into a clearly unstable Canada. Wounded, with no weapons and no plan, Russia fears this is one battle he may not be able to win. \ Hunger Games/Battle Royale-type oneshot \


**Summary:** Deep in the woods of a Hunger Games/Battle Royale-esque scenario, Russia runs into a clearly unstable Canada. Wounded, with no weapons, and no plan, Russia fears this is one battle he may not be able to win.

 **A/N: Hello! Another single-scene oneshot, this time in a Hunger Games/Battle Royale-type situation, featuring Russia and Canada. This was written a while back as dialogue practise.**

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Russia suddenly stopped. The single, faint crack of a twig some distance behind his back snapped his limped strides to a halt. The sound had been quiet, just barely reaching his ears, and had there been any other sound in the forest - the soft rustle of wind through leaves, the creaking of branches, even the chirping of birds - he wouldn't have heard it at all. But he had, and his senses alerted him that this was no natural sound.

No, it had been caused by something - some _one_. A carelessly misplaced step on the dry droppings of the forest, alerting prey to a predator's presence. But the forest stood still and silent, holding its breath as it awaited a confrontation.

Shifting on his heels, Russia slowly turned to face the sound. His expression steeled, all emotion covered by a childish grin. Whoever stalked him would not have the pleasure of witnessing any aspects of his thoughts, whatever they determined themselves to be at the sight of the culprit.

For a few painstakingly tense moments, not a being stirred beneath the canopy of the forest. Silence hung around the clearing like a heavy blanket of snow, dulling the senses and blocking away the surrounding world, so much so that any inexperienced hunter may have believed themselves to have imagined it. Russia, however, would not allow himself to be deterred. He kept his gaze locked intently on the forest, patiently waiting out his pursuer.

Finally, a figure melted out of the underbrush that concealed it, forming from seemingly nothing as forest melded into pale flesh. The boy was tall - not as tall as Russia himself, but certainly fair in the running for second place. His lanky form drifted from its hiding place with a sort of confidence unbecoming of the boy's somewhat hunched stature. His tan coat was muddied and torn in some places, with suspicious dark stains tainting the fabric at the sleeves and fur of the hood. When the tall Nation Person fully emerged from the cover of the canopies, his jaw-length hair caught the sunlight filtering from above in a golden mane of fire, despite its matted and mud-laced state.

Russia desperately held onto his façade of childish aloofness, despite feeling his breath hitch slightly within the confines of his chest. The boy's eyes - as red-violet and insane as his own - bore into him with sharp bloodlust, sending uncontrolled gooseflesh across every inch of pale skin.

Russia was no fool. Loathe as he was to admit it, he could not win this battle. He may outweigh his opponent, but this boy was both _intelligent_ and _fast._ Frighteningly so. The last time those normally soft, ivory eyes had held such a clear intent to kill, they had been on the same end of the battlefield, much to Russia's relief.

But now, they were trained on him.

The strength of his nation meant nothing here. If he were to fight this boy now, both would be left to their own devices. Russia was exhausted, injured, and had not a weapon to his name. A thief, Russia could handle barehanded…

A _smart_ thief, however…

"Canada…" Russia finally managed to choke out the somewhat-greeting. His only chance would be to either run, though the chances of escaping the locked sights of such a devastating predator with his wounds was slim to none, or talk him down. By the unpredictable gleam in the boy's eyes, however, Russia didn't hold much hope for that, either.

At the voicing of his name, the North American's advance halted, his head tilting slightly to the side in question. The hungry glare refused to stray from its target, cold eyes peering questioningly from behind cracked, rounded glasses. Russia swallowed the clump that had formed in his throat. Diplomacy was never his strong suit. He prefered the tactic of loyalty through fear, obviously not a viable option for the current situation. He raised his hands as a sign of peace.

"It is good to see you, Comrade." Russia cringed internally at the rocky start, scanning the other's face with uncertainty as he waited with bated breath for a response. For a flash of a second, Canada's eyes widened slightly and he seemed to recoil with shock at the acknowledgement, but he managed to compose himself. His eyes narrowed at the taller man.

"I'm not your comrade, _Comrade._ " The rasp of the voice, along with the nation's normal whispery tone, made the statement a knife through the tension. Russia narrowed his own eyes in response.

"You could be." He was not enthusiastic about the prospect of an alliance, but he could easily turn on the gullible nation later, and possibly even gain supplies for his efforts. The tricky part would be convincing him. He did his best to keep the ill intention out of his voice as he continued. "We could work together. I have some food and other supplies."

"I could kill you and _take_ your supplies," was the calmly shot retort. Somehow, the blond's eyes narrowed further. "I wouldn't have to share, then."

"No, but then you'd lose something valuable." Russia could feel his heart rate slowly increasing, the incessant pounding in his ears impeding his attempts at forming coherent points. He heard Canada scoff.

"And what would that be?" The boy kept his crouched, ready-to-pounce stance, but hadn't made any other moves towards closing the gap between them. He was still far enough away that Russia would have a moment's notice before the slighter man was upon him. He struggled internally to form the next words.

"Protection. An alliance. Someone to watch your back." The defence was weak, and Russia knew it, but for the life of him he couldn't think of another way out. If this boy had any ounce of common sense, he would refuse and choose to fight right here, an outcome that most likely wouldn't end favourably for Russia, but he could hope for a miracle. Canada's lips turned down in a snarl.

"Having someone to _watch your back_ is the perfect way to get yourself _stabbed._ " Despite the harsh words, Russia's manipulative sight caught the faintest trace of uncertainty and _longing_ flash across the younger nation's eyes, dampening the previous murderous intent if only a little. Perhaps…

"Canada, that is not always the case." Once again, he fought to get his point across. _Damn_ the English language, and his difficulty taming it. But if his suspicions were right, then this was certainly an insecurity he could exploit. "Comrade, having someone by your side is good for companionship. If we were to go together, we would each have another to lean on. To talk to. To work with. A nation's survival depends heavily on the alliances and friendships it forms."

The younger's eyes narrowed again. Russia was close, he could tell the other's resolve was crumbling at the prospect of no longer being alone. Whatever had happened to the poor boy during his time here, it certainly worked in Russia's favour.

"But you're _Russia._ You can't be trusted at the best of times." The tone was laced with venom, but lacked the previous conviction of blind hate.

" _Da,_ I am Russia. A northern nation who has spent much of his time alone, isolated in vast, snow-covered tundras for unimaginable amounts of time." He forced his friendliest, most reassuring smile onto his lips, hoping that it, accompanied by a soft, understanding tone, would be enough to convince the naïve young nation. "We are not so different, Canada. We understand each other. Destined to be friends, I'd say."

It was a bit cheesy, but he saw the younger's last bit of resolve crumble. His shoulders slouched downwards as he pondered Russia's offer.

"Friends…" the boy mumbled. Slowly, his eyes lifted from their new position on the ground to search Russia's face again. Childish hope raised his whispered tone to a slightly higher pitch. "You would really be my friend? Even here? You won't… forget me?"

"Of course, Canada! We will be the best of friends!" Russia fought hard to keep the giddy laughter out of his voice. Clearly, he had overestimated the North American. This new deal was working out wonderfully, the younger playing like putty into his hands. He had him by the collar. Now, for the finishing touch. "I would never forget you."

" _You promise?_ " An innocent question posed in a silky voice.

" _Da,_ of course! I promise!" The even silkier fibbed response.

The incredulous look that crossed the younger's face reminded of a child at the fair for the first time. The boy seemed to recede within himself momentarily, his body twitching as he mulled the proposition over within himself. His lips worked in silent words, conversing with an invisible being more likely in his head than anywhere else. Eventually, he inhaled a heavy breath, effectively ending the pregnant silence.

Canada's shoulders straightened, his expression lifting into a grateful smile as his eyes once again locked on Russia, now devoid of any ill intent. His right hand rose in a friendly reach towards the taller nation.

"I… okay." His voice held a kind tone once again, the murderous persona present only minutes before seemingly having dissipated into feelings of friendship. "I'll trust you, Russia."

Russia smiled his most sincere smile in return, reaching forward to encase the smaller hand in his own. No guilt tugged at his heart at the knowledge that this promise would later be broken. For now, he would walk away from this clearing in one piece, with a new little toy to accompany him. It couldn't have gone better.

"I'm glad. Now, let us head out. I was just going to the river." Russia turned back along his original course, just in time to miss the stretched, lopsided smirk that split pale lips into a grin.

 _Like putty,_ indeed.


End file.
